


A Good and Faithful Servant

by Cottia



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, It's not Hugo pastiche without a few good light metaphors, and bad puns, and religious parallels, this doesn't really have bad puns but it does have stuff about names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottia/pseuds/Cottia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things we lose have a way of coming back to us, in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good and Faithful Servant

Monseigneur Welcome was now a man of one-and-eighty years, and his eyes were as white as his hair. Though he could no longer stride across the country as he once did, his mind remained as sharp, and his spirit as gentle, as ever it had. Being unable to travel abroad without the guiding hand of his faithful sister, he spent much time in his garden. Having spent so many years viewing the plants with his eyes, he found now that his feet could still feel familiar paths, and his fingers flowers. Often Mademoiselle Baptistine would marvel to hear him, exclaiming how blessed he was to smell and touch the blooms and fruits. Happy the spirit which can spin misfortune into joy!

His household had remained unchanged for many years - saving the loss of Madame Magloire, who had departed some years hence to lodge with her brother's family in Brittany, but with whom Mademoiselle Baptistine maintained a lively correspondence.

Lest the Reader fear the long-ago theft of silver, with which the sister concerned herself so deeply and with which the brother concerned himself not at all, had led to some dimming of the generous spirit which pervaded the household - it was not so. The bolts had not been drawn - for, as Monseigneur pointed out with an attitude of great serenity, what was there left to them of great value, that the undeserving might take? or that they would deny the deserving?

One bright sunrise in June, Monseigneur Myriel sat once again in his garden - where, simply put, he felt himself closest to our Lord. "From whence came we all? But a Garden," he would say, and add "I hope a garden is where we may return." Though he could not see so much as a cart pass before him, the summer sunrise would still brighten his eyes and dazzle his soul.

The peaceful scene was shattered by a female shriek.

"My sister! I hope you are not injured,'" cried the Bishop, as he entered his house in haste.

Mademoiselle Baptistine made no answer, but took his hand and guided him to their table.

There was there set place for twelve - not in bone or wood or tin, but in fine silver. And there! In the centre were two candlesticks, glowing with the dawn, and with that soft unique light which only pure silver can bestow. Though the Bishop could see none of this with his eyes, he felt the heavy metal under his aged hand, and he smiled as he circled the table, seeing it in his thoughts (which are truer than the eyes can be) as it had not been for so many years. At his place was one addition to his mental tableau - a letter on heavy paper, sealed with wax which was still warm to the touch.

"Shall I read to you?" asked Mademoiselle Baptistine. For though her heart was too full of surprise and joy to speak, she was inflamed with curiosity as to what housebreaker would _add_ to their allowance.

The Bishop assented, sitting in his accustomed place, and Mademoiselle Baptistine read, though the letter contained but one page -

_Monseigneur Welcome,_

_Though you bought my soul for God, it was not God's silver that was paid, but your own. Though I can never atone for the sin against your hospitality, I would reassure you that your gift was not for naught. I hope myself now to be perhaps less deserving of those eternal torments to which, when we met, and without your kindness, I would have surely been damned._

_I may never be an honest man to the world.  Revealing my true name would condemn not only myself, but the many lives who now depend on my continued good fortune for their own. You alone on this earth know all my sins - I would confess to you all my names, and my everlasting gratitude._

_Your servant,_

_Pere Madeleine_

_Monsieur-le-Maire in Montreuil-sur-Mer_

_Jean Valjean_

This she read, though not without exclaiming at length, both during and after narrating the contents to the Bishop, who appeared to be in a state of reverie.

\- "Do you know of Montreuil?" he asked at last.

\- "It is at Pas-de-Calais, though it is not near the sea; it has industry."

\- "Yes, he replied, It is not near the sea. How strange, that a name should have importance, and mean so little!" Then he fell back into silence.

\- "Our talents should not be buried under bread and warm milk," said Mademoiselle Baptistine at last. "Let us put them to use."

\- "Not our talents, but our Lord's," replied the Bishop, and, clasping a hand on her shoulder, he returned to his garden, where his hands would watch the sunflowers as they turned their buds to follow the light.

**Author's Note:**

> I flat-out refuse to not give them a happy ending. I also flat-out refuse to do let Hugo have the last word with his bizarre and icky chapter about how great it'd be to be blind and need constant care with it.
> 
> But then, I can't imagine the Bishop doing anything other than making the best of it?
> 
> [Also, writing faux!translation is unbelievably fun, and apparently I can use a lot more Bible metaphors than I thought I could]


End file.
